Iceberglandia

Hey!! How’s it going!

For me, meh. Been better, been worse. Even though it’s technically spring, it’s still as cold as fuck up here. Well, it comes and goes, but yesterday’s snow (followed by rain, which froze overnight – which will result in a comical walk to work today) serves as a reminder that Canada hates me.

Remember that project I told you about? Me working on a website? Well, it’s almost completed. And it would already be done, if it weren’t for a stupid idea that popped into my head over the long weekend.
All the hours I’ve been spending on said idea could have been invested in finishing my website, but noooo, the stupid Iceberg had to get another ‘brilliant’ idea.
See, even though I have possibly the worst voice any human being can have (picture Steven Seagal with a throat infection doing an imitation of a muppet), even though I am Earth’s most introverted person, even though I have no idea of how or what, I’ve been toying with the idea of creating a podcast.
I’ve spent the last couple of days trying to document myself on the subject, lying in bed all excited about the idea and the possibilities, and installing shitty software recommended by the podcasting tutorials I’ve read. So far, to no avail.

Also, does anybody even read this blog anymore? Judging by the overwhelming amount of comments I’ve received IN ALL OF 2008 (which is a big, fat, round zero), my guess would be ‘no’.
Speaking of my paranoia, did I do anything to the whole world? It seems like even in the final weeks of 2007, people talked to me occasionally, be it in person, by phone, or on MSN. But lately, not even my closest friends bother to say ‘hi’ every now and then. Oh, well.

Well, just wanted to drop by and say something, before I started getting all those “where are you” e-mails.

Don’t you just love self-depreciating sarcasm?

The Iceberg.

Television (as well as other media) is saturated with commercials. Most of them suck, some are “creative”, there are a few good ones out there, and quite frankly there is the odd one that is just plain awesome.
I have always been drawn to commercials, as I have always had a knack for belonging to an advertising agency (and now I drive a fucking forklift, how’s that for your god’s divine plan). I have always been critical of ads, commercials and the whole “selling an idea to the customer” approach of marketing. Truth be told, I’ve been tempted on more than one occasion to discuss a certain commercial, or another. But for some reason, it hasn’t happened. Until today.

See, I just came across what I believe to be the best, the absolute most awesome commercial I will ever see in my life. I say this as a fan of Black Metal, not as an advertising expert.
If you had walked up to me yesterday (or earlier today) and said, “Iceberg, KFC has a commercial with a Black Metal band!!”, I would have slapped you silly for trying to make me feel, well, ‘Punk’D’.

But hey, watch for yourself.

And now, it is my duty to visit my local KFC. Not because ads have a psychological effect on me (if they did… aww, forget it… it involves a commercial with a chick with big tits), but because I fully support their concept of a commercial which includes Black Metal. Truth be told, I don’t even like KFC.
On a stereotypical (but not racist) note… did the idea for the commercial spring from the relation between “black” and “chicken”?

Either way, unless there is an ad for condoms casting Kitana Baker and yours truly, I think I’ve found my favorite commercial of all time.

Truth be told, the commercial didn’t so much address my craving for a chicken burger. But, now I want to listen to Emperor!

The Iceberg.

As reported earlier, I had my doctor’s appointment yesterday. It was just a review of my lab results, really.

To be honest with you, I was kind of worried that they’d find something. And, I mean, what’s not to find in the liquids that flow though my body? As an avid alcohol enthusiast and consumer of flammable tobacco who is endeared to laboral abuse and prolonged extreme weather exposure, surely something had to be off-kilter, no?

Well, as it happens, my ECG results hadn’t come in (so I guess we’ll have to wait on that one), but as I found out, my hemoglobin and my bladder contents had a happy tale to tell.

Except for the suggestion to consume more protein, because my body was burning muscle, and how to reduce my cholesterol (which was under the tolerance limit, but ‘could be a little lower’), I’m healthy as a really healthy thing (so healthy, indeed, that I can spoof the title of one of my favorite albums).

I’ll drink to that!

The Iceberg.

That’s what they always say when you walk in. What they never do, however, is finish that sentence. As in, “this won’t hurt a bit… it’s going to be very, very painful.”

Truth be told, this time wasn’t all that bad.

Hey, you still don’t know what I’m talking about, right? How silly of me!

A couple of weeks ago, thanks to my sister, I stumbled upon a doctor who was taking on new patients. So, I made an appointment and that first time was just a Q&A. Just to set up my profile. But, the nurse said she’d need some tests done. Blood, urine, and just for kicks, an ECG. (Well, not exactly “just for kicks”, but I won’t go into detail, for now).
Finally, yesterday I spoke unto myself “Iceberg, thou shalt be hasty in your medical proceedings!”, and decided to get that done today. That meant fasting for 12 hours (which ended up being more like 17), sleeping for 6 and sitting in the waiting room for 30 minutes.
Oh, and before I left the house, I had to pee in a cup and take it with me on the bus. So, here I am, sitting in the waiting room, with a still-warm cup of freshly brewed urine in my jacket pocket, trying to take my mind off of what was about to ensue. It’s not that I’m a puss when it comes to needles, it’s just, well, I would have much rather been in bed.
So, they call my name, I walk in, and they draw blood. No big deal. Then they take me to another room for my ECG, and that’s where I felt pain. Not from the actual procedure, but from peeling those sticky things they put on. Fortunately, I don’t have a hairy chest. But peeling those fuckers off my legs was, well, you can imagine.
After the whole ordeal, I went over to the doctor’s office to make an appointment. So now I have to be there wednesday at 9.30. Goddamn, I hate waking up early.
I’m sure they’ll find something in my blood or in my pee, or in my ECG. Diabetes? Cholesterol? Alcohol poisoning? Leukemia? Who knows, I feel like a fucking Kinder Surprise right about now!

The Iceberg.